


Theory of Happiness (Chrobin Celebration Day 1)

by Voidpurrmina



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Chrobin Week, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, also i've never posted here so like, chrobin celebration, hi, i thought it'd be cool, idk he has wings and a tail, manakete grima??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25572811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidpurrmina/pseuds/Voidpurrmina
Summary: Chrom always gets a little stuck when Grima approaches him with questions about life.His existence is a puzzle, after all, and Chrom’s never been too great at those.
Relationships: Chrom/Gimurei | Grima/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Theory of Happiness (Chrobin Celebration Day 1)

**Author's Note:**

> i. what am i supposed to put here. happy chrobin celebration? yeah that sounds about right. 
> 
> anyway i have no idea what im doing nor if this even counts but it'd better because most of the fics i wrote for this week involve grima so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> anyway the title comes from ayano's theory of happiness which has absolutely nothing to do with the fic but i was listening to it on loop when i was writing this but uhhhhhh enjoy? yeah i guess you should do that huh. enjoy this fic that very loosely fits the prompt and i will now be backing away into my hidey-hole for the next 24 hours.

Grima tends to ponder, often for much too long. And Chrom always gets a little stuck when Grima approaches him with questions about his life, his existence. His existence is a puzzle, after all, and Chrom’s never been too great at those.

“Chrom, am I a weapon?”

The query snaps Chrom out of the meditative trance of sharpening Falchion. He turns to face Grima with a perplexed look. “A weapon? How so?”

The warm light of the dusk kisses Grima’s tanned skin and dark freckles and draws attention to his dark wings. It hugs his snowy hair and catches the scales on his tail in a positively alluring manner. A seraph, Chrom reckons. Surely that must be what Grima truly is.

The Plegian (Thabean? Is that what he is? Chrom had better not ask, otherwise Grima will fret.) sighs and averts his carmine eyes from Chrom’s azure ones. “I mean, was I created for destruction? Or did I adopt that after becoming humanity’s enemy?” He flexes his wings, spreading them to their full length and terrible glory. “Look at me, Chrom. I am capable of causing so much pain. It’s all I’ve ever known how to do. And if that’s not what I am supposed to do, then what am I here for? I… I’m worried about not having a purpose.” He nervously plays with his hands and winces when his own sharp nail nicks him. Chrom frowns. 

Grima certainly could be used to hurt. There are many things that could be considered dangerous about him whether that be his intelligence or his innate magical prowess. But Chrom knows he’s more than a tool. Even if he denies it, Chrom can still see. Grima is human. He is capable of good.

“You’re no weapon,” Chrom says with the same wholehearted certainty and conviction he says everything else with. He scoots closer and plants a small kiss right between Grima’s eyes. Grima stares at Chrom again. This time he can’t look away.

“You are yourself before you are anything else, alright? And a weapon would never be worried about its own purpose. The fact that you question it is proof enough,” the prince murmurs. Grima makes no moves, so Chrom gives him a quick kiss.

Again.

And again.

And once more, just to be sure.

Embarrassed and ever so slightly overwhelmed, the fell dragon stutters on his words. That’s never happened before. Is that good? He’s… unsure. “B-but how do I know what I am? I am myself, yes, but just  _ what _ is that?” He moves to fiddle with his hands again but Chrom grabs them instead.

“Well, for starters, You’re Grima. Or, er…. Robin? The line is sort of blurred and I don’t quite understa-”

“Both,” Grima interjects, nipping Chrom’s rambling at the bud. “I’m both.”

“Both-?” Chrom echoes back with a questioning tone. Grima nods once, hesitantly.

“Alright then!” Chrom says with a small grin. “You’re both Grima and Robin. You’re a tactician. A wonderful friend.”

“A mistake-” Grima interjects again.

“ _ Not _ a mistake,” the Ylissean corrects gently. He opens his mouth to say more, but Grima’s biting words come first.

“You’re right. Forneus knew exactly what he was doing when he made me.”

“Grima...”

“He knew he was wrong for wanting to play with the forces of life and death. He just wanted power.”

“Grima-”

“He had it coming. I’d kill him again. Over and over, if given the choice.”

“Grima!”

Chrom’s voice snaps Grima out of his own head. He hadn’t even realized he was on the verge of tears. He doesn’t have to look at the prince to know that Chrom is worried. He keeps his mouth shut.

Chrom takes a moment to compose himself before he starts to speak. “He does not determine your worth. He was a madman, and he’s long gone. You can choose what you wish to be for yourself.” He cups Grima’s cheeks in his hands, almost squishing them, and gets even closer. 

At this view, he can see so many of his lover’s freckles. They’re plastered everywhere: his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his ears, and even on his neck and shoulders. They’re like bits of cinnamon on graham cracker skin. Chrom fights the urge to kiss every one of them.

“You have your very own future, Grima. It’s yours to shape and no one else’s. Forneus does not define you or control you. Reach out with your own hands and take your future. It’s  _ yours _ .” 

The words bring Grima comfort and he cries. Silent at first, but he chokes on a loud sob and he just gets more vocal from there. He hugs Chrom tightly and the prince hugs back. They stay like that for a while, Grima bawling into Chrom’s shoulder while the latter rubs small circles into the former’s back. Strangely, Grima doesn’t feel bad.

After a while, Grima stops crying. Chrom thinks that even with puffy red eyes and tear streaks, Grima is still beautiful. He smiles because of it.

“Feeling better?” Chrom asks softly. Grima nods. Not fervently, but also not hesitantly. It’s a start. They both know that Chrom won’t give up on Grima, that he’ll reassure Grima until the dragon has no choice but to believe in the hopeful, idealistic portraits that Chrom paints with his words. It gives Grima peace of mind to know that there is one person that won’t give up on him. And for that, he kisses Chrom.

It’s nothing overly special, and Chrom can taste the unmistakable salt of tears on Grima’s lips, but neither of them care. Chrom is dimly aware of Grima’s serpentine tail, wagging slowly. A good sign, he thinks. It just might mean that he’s happy. That, or he’s nervous. He hasn’t gotten all of the dragon’s mannerisms down pat… He’ll just say that he’s happy. 

It’s always a good day when Chrom can help Grima out with his puzzles.


End file.
